The savage threat of vengeance was shouted, as though the speaker had to give vent to his pent-up emotion. Several of the younger men gave grunts of approval, but only the foreman spoke, after a curious look at Ginger which Green did not fail to notice.
`Aw, save yore breath, Ginger,' Blaynes said. `Yu'll want it all before we're through; mebbe he ain't plugged bad.'
The wild burst of speed with which the party had started now slackened, and the riders pulled their mounts down to a steady lope which ate up the miles without unduly tiring the animals. The trail wound about, avoiding the rough country, and keeping to the open prairie where the going was good. Now and then they passed herds of feeding cattle. This was a part of the range Green had not yet explored. It was, he noticed, much nearer to the Big Chief mountains, and the grazing land was shut in by country of the wildest nature.
`When the cattle first began to vanish, Old Simon reckoned they just naturally strayed an' lost themselves,' Larry said. `So they built the cabins, and started line-ridin', but it ain't stopped the leak.'
Green was watching Durran, who, despite his exhaustion, had insisted on accompanying the party. He was now riding beside the foreman, and the pair were deep in conversation. Green frankly confessed himself puzzled. If these men were acting a part, they were doing it well. The unexpected incident was the slaying of Bud, for he felt sure that the puncher was dead. Utterly unnecessary, he could not believe that it was originally intended. Was it an accident, or did it become necessary? For the remainder of the long ride his companion got little out of him, and after one or two attempts at conversation, the boy gave up and rode in silence until they sighted their destination.
There's the cabin!' Larry cried.
It was small, but strongly-built of untrimmed logs chinked with clay, and looked peaceful enough in the bright sunshine. But tragedy was there. It was Ginger who, spurring ahead, first saw the body of his friend. Flinging himself from his horse, he snatched off his hat and stood looking down at the form outstretched on the grass but a bare fifty yards from the hut. One glance told him the worst.
One by one the men dismounted and bareheaded, grouped themselves around their fallen comrade. The foreman knelt to examine the body. A bullet had grazed the temple, and there was an ominous stain high in the chest. Rattler, who had not touched the dead man, stood up.
`He's cashed,' he said. `They got him twice. Two of yu carry him to the cabin; we'll send the wagon when we get back. Scatter now an' pick up the trail.'
Green interposed. `One minit, boys.' He stooped and gently opened the dead man's shirt at the neck, disclosing a gaping wound just below the collar-bone. `That crease on the head ain't nothin', though it likely fetched him off his hoss,' he continued. `This is what killed him, an' that's knife-work.'
He picked up Bud's revolver, which was lying near the body, No shots had been fired from it. The spot showed signs of a struggle : the grass was trampled, and there were deep marks of the cowboy's high heels, as though he had made desperate efforts to stand on his feet.
`What's it matter how it happened, anyway?' said the foreman contemptuously. `He's passed out, an' we gotta get on the track o' them that did it.'
Green did not reply, but remained looking at the spot after the poor clay had been taken to the hut and the others were searching for the raiders' trail. Suddenly a bright glint in the grass caught his eye; he stooped and slipped something into a pocket.
He walked over to the cabin. It consisted of one room only, furnished with two bunks, a table, a couple of chairs, and a stove. On a shelf were supplies of ammunition, tobacco, and food. These appeared to be untouched. The body had been deposited in one of the bunks, and Ginger was covering it with a blanket. His grief-stricken face was grim and hard : death he had seen before, but this time the fell Monarch had touched him nearly. Green put a hand on his shoulder.
`Ginger,' he said, `don't be in too big a hurry to start for the Reservation.'
The cowboy whirled, his narrowed, filmed eyes boring into the other. `Green,' he said hoarsely, `if you know anythin'--'
`I don't, but I got an idea,' was the quiet reply. `When I find out, I'll turn him over to yu, whoever he may be. That's a promise.'
Ginger held out his hand and they gripped. Then, turning to the blanketed form, he muttered thickly, 'I'll get him for yu, Buddy, don't yu worry,' and strode away.
Green followed, mounted his horse, and joined the others.
The trail of the riders had soon been found, and also the 'spot where, behind a clump of cottonwoods near the cabin, they had waited in ambush for the approach of the two cowboys. Beyond the fact that the horses were all shod, the ground told them nothing, and Blaynes wasted little time over it.
`Come on, boys, let's get after the damn thieves,' he cried, and spurred his mount into the broad trail left by the stolen beasts. `Pretty good gather,' muttered Larry, scanning the hoofprints over which they were galloping. `Three to four score, I reckon.' `Over four,' replied Green. `They pushed 'em hard too.'
This was evident from the depth of the indentations, but the pace must have decreased as the trail plunged deeper into the broken country. At the end of an hour the pursuers found themselves threading a labyrinth of gullies, brush-covered slopes, and thickets of cottonwood and spruce. The speed was not great, but they had the satisfaction of knowing that they must be travelling very much faster than the herd. Then came the danger signal: fitful puffs of wind, growing stronger and more frequent, told them what to expect. The sky grew black and the air cold.
`Damned storm a-comin', boys,' Rattler growled. `Reckon we'd better hole up here.'
Hurriedly the men dismounted, donned their slickers, hobbled and tied the horses, turning them with their rumps to the wind, and sought shelter for themselves. Huddled close against rock or tree-stump, they awaited the misery they could not escape. Another moment and the storm was upon them; a terrific wind snatched at their garments, and drove millions of stinging grains of sand upon and through them. Muffled up as they were, the devilish particles penetrated, and the horses squealed, while the men swore under the torture of thousands of pricking needles. For nearly an hour they endured the agony of hell itself, and then the storm passed; the maddening patter of sand on saddle and slicker ceased, and the men arose and sought avidly for their canteens.
`She was shore a fierce little blow,' remarked Dirty, his throat having become usable again. `Wonder where she picked up the sand?'
`Huh ! Not much doubt about that,' growled the foreman. `She's come right across Sandy Parlour, an' if this trail leads to it--an' I'm bettin' it does--every blasted track'll be wiped out.'
Half an hour's riding proved that Blaynes had surmised correctly. The cattle-tracks ended on the edge of a broad stretch of desert, the face of which had been swept smooth by the storm. The foreman shrugged his shoulders in disgust.
`Don't it beat all, the luck they has?' he asked. `Well, boys, it ain't no use agoin' on. To search Sandy Parlour without a trail'd be wuss than lookin' for a nigger on a pitch-black night, an' we don't know where they're a-comin' out.'
The men looked at one another; it was evident that some of the younger men did not like the idea of giving up the pursuit, but the foreman's contention was sound. Green alone spoke:
`See here, Blaynes : I admit it looks a pretty hopeless proposition, but why not let me an' one o' the boys snoop around for awhile an' see if we can pick up a trail?'
The foremen grinned unpleasantly as he replied, `Well, it's yore job, ain't it? What's the idea o' yu wanting help? Ain't gettin' modest, are yu?'
Green chose to ignore the sneer. The idea is that if we do hit on the trail, I can send for yu an' the boys while I foller it up,' he said quietly. `I'll take Barton--he's got a fast hoss.'
Blaynes nodded sulkily. Two fellers wastin' time 'stead o' one, an' we're short-handed,' he growled.
He made no further protest, however, and in a few moments Green and Larry were alone. Perhaps of all the posse, Ginger alone envied them their task. His parting words were, `Yu find that trail, boys, an' we'll come a- bilin'.'
`Good Injun trick, crossing the Sandy,' remarked Larry. `Good Injun nothin',' retorted his companion. `Yu ain't swallowin' that redskin rubbish, are yu?'
`But Durran said
